


Most Things in Between

by rileywrites



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 09:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16889769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rileywrites/pseuds/rileywrites
Summary: Magnus doesn't go to Alec's wedding, choosing instead to drink himself into a stupor.That's how Alec finds him, sprawled out drunk on his expensive carpet, fifteen minutes into what was supposed to be his wedding.





	Most Things in Between

Magnus' pocket watch floats listlessly in the air as he squints at the face. What time is it?

How close to eight is it?

Still only 7:37. He's a fucking immortal warlock, but the past few hours have stretched on like years, minutes like decades, seconds like centuries off his life.

7:38.

Magnus refills his glass and takes another long drag of his joint. He hasn't smoked since Woodstock, but it seemed appropriate for the occasion.

At some point he migrated from lounging on the couch to sprawled on the floor, one foot on the seat and the other on the arm. It's not comfortable, but he never intended this vigil of sorts to be pleasant. 

If it wasn't so fucking early, Magnus would be amongst his harem at Pandemonium, pretending to enjoy the evening and actually enjoying the bar. Instead, he's lying on his Persian rug in his shirtsleeves, trousers unbuttoned and one shoe off.

He was going to go to the fucking wedding. He was going to walk in, throw open the doors, and speak now before he had to forever hold his peace. What did he expect? That Alexander would say fuck tradition, come charging off the dais, and whisk him off to happiness?

Stupid.

7:41

His phone is in pieces on the floor by the wall, a victim to errant rage and his sixth (seventh? Twelfth?) cocktail about an hour ago. Modern technology isn't nearly as dependable as the old shit.

Hell, he had a carrier pigeon that survived two fucking world wars.

Magnus waves the pocket watch in front of his eyes. Maybe, if he tries hard enough, he could hypnotize himself into not giving a damn. 

(Even Magnus' magic isn't that strong.)

Magnus takes another long draw from the joint, holding it in as long as he can before he releases it. The joint has burned down to the end, so he snuffs it out on the ashtray resting on his stomach and reaches for another.

7:46

The next one he grabs is wrapped in pale blue paper, the signature of a lovely stoner seelie who lives out in Pennsylvania. There's more than weed in these. Magnus has never been able to pinpoint just what else she adds.

The seelies are in touch with nature, you see.

He lights it, hoping whatever extra magic comes with it will get him crossfaded enough to stop caring.

It's almost eight when Magnus checks his watch again. Almost time for Alexander to walk down the aisle and tie himself eternally to the force of nature that is Lydia Branwell.

Magnus wants to hate her. Wants to find joy in her pain, wants to want to rip her hair out.

Magnus can't hate her. She's a wonderful, capable woman. Beautiful, intelligent, deadly. Just like he likes his women-- smarter than he is.

She deserves better.

7:58

The blue joint is gone, and he has to summon another bottle of whiskey to fill his glass. 

They all deserve better. 

7:59

Magnus curses his centuries of alcohol tolerance. He's drunk off his ass, but somehow he's still conscious. Maybe he should find a succubus, fuck his feelings out and give them enough energy for him sleep soundly for the first time since the wedding announcement.

His stomach turns at the thought of sleeping with someone, sex demon or no. He doesn't want just a warm body and a willing mouth. 

8:00

Wedding bells clang in Magnus's imagination, if not in the Institute belltower. They sound like a dirge, like an elegy.

He knows for whom the bells toll.

...

8:03

Alec is still running. He hasn't stopped running since he left the Institute. Dress shoes were not made for this, but he doesn't even care anymore.

He stops running just long enough to get on the fucking train, too impatient to call a cab. He just has to get to Magnus. He just has to get to the lair.

The moment the doors whoosh open, Alec is running again. 

He doesn't think about what's going to happen when he gets there. For once in his life, he doesn't have a plan. He just has to get there.

8:12

Alec stops running about eleven inches from Magnus's door. He screeches to a halt and pounds on the door before he can chicken out

Silence.

He pounds again.

"Magnus! Open the door!"

After a long pause, the doorknob shimmers and the door creaks open.

Alec walks in slowly, wishing he had a weapon or something. The loft is oddly quiet, no music playing.

"Magnus?"

The answer comes from the vague direction of the living room floor.

"Over here, angel. You should know that. You're a hallucination."

Sure enough, Magnus Bane is sprawled on the floor, half-dressed, the evidence of his... recreational evening scattered around him.

"You've been drinking."

Big gold eyes blink up at him. "And smoking. Your point?"

"I'm not a vision, Magnus. I'm really Alec."

Now that he's here, all the adrenaline that pushed him to run has drained out of him. He sits on the floor next to Magnus, clearing an empty whiskey bottle and a cigar box out of the way. 

"I didn't know you smoked." It's stupid, inane, but Alec can't avoid the lingering scent of tobacco and marijuana. 

"I started smoking tobacco when slavery was in its infancy, Alexander. I don't do it much now, but old habits die hard." Magnus sips his whiskey. "I haven't smoked marijuana since Woodstock, but I wanted to tonight."

It hits Alec like a ton of bricks. He's interrupted Magnus celebrating Alec's wedding. He's walked in on a fucking shit show of magical proportions, and he's the reason for it.

"How are you still... fuck, how are you still alive, let alone awake after all this?"

"I'm immortal, darling. Takes more than some cannabis and alcohol to kill me."

"What all have you taken, Magnus?"

Magnus waves his worry away. "You know… champagne, cocaine, gasoline…" He giggles. "Most things in between."

"Now is not the time to be quoting Panic! At the Disco," Alec snaps. "Get your shit together."

"I'm perfectly fine, Angel." Magnus grins. "You recognized a music reference from this century. I'm so proud."

Alec decides to give up on reasoning with Magnus, who is clearly three hundred sheets to the wind. 

"You should go to bed."

Magnus doesn't move. "I can't seem to convince my legs of that, Alexander."

Alec stands and holds out his hand. Magnus doesn't move. Finally, he bends down and scoops the man into his arms, moving Magnus' head to his shoulder and somehow balancing the dead weight. 

Alec carries Magnus into his room and lays him on the bed, where he promptly slays out with his limp-noodle limbs. He doesn't speak, doesn't seem to be remotely cogent at this point. Alec gets him down to his undershirt and boxers with considerable effort and tucks him into bed.

"I'll sleep on the couch, and we'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

Magnus pats Alec's cheek, eyes firmly closed. "You do that, Angel. Sleep time, and you'll be lost to the haze when I wake."

"I'll be here," Alec promises. "I'm sleeping on your couch, and I'll be here when you wake up."

Magnus attempts to say something, but he's asleep between one breath and the next.

Alec goes back out the living area and starts cleaning. He disposes of the empty bottles and cans, cleans out the ashtray, sweeps up the broken glass and bits of smashed phone.

Once he's content that no one would die if they attempted to cross the oriental carpet, he toes off his shoes and strips down to his boxer briefs and undershirt. He'd find sweatpants or something, but he's definitely too tall to borrow anything of Magnus', even if the man was awake enough to ask.

The blanket on the back of the couch feels like sleeping under a cloud.

Fuck, knowing Magnus, it might even be a fucking cloud.

…

11:48 am.

Magnus goes stumbling out of his room looking for coffee to pour his hangover cure into, when he realizes there's someone else in the apartment.

Who else could possibly-

_"I'll be here," Alec promises. "I'm sleeping on your couch, and I'll be here when you wake up."_

"Alexander?"

Alexander looks up from the book he's been reading with the broadest smile Magnus has ever seen on him.

"Wait, so… you weren't a hallucination?"

"Not for lack of trying on your part, no." Alexander stands and, tentatively, holds out a hand. "I left the wedding. I couldn't do it, not when… not when I want to be here with you. Whatever that ends up meaning, as long as we can figure it out together."

"Oh, darling… don't threaten me with a good time."

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this last fall when I watched Shadowhunters for the first time. I stopped midway through season 2, but I figured I might as well dust this off and post it.


End file.
